


doorbell rings, we're not listening

by bottomlinsons (grimgrace)



Series: Never Enough Socks [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gifts, Holidays, Louis being Louis, M/M, Presents, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and harry being harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5295347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimgrace/pseuds/bottomlinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>At approximately quarter past three in the morning, Harry is woken by a thump. Louis is gone, he notices first. Santa’s kidnapped him, he thinks next. </i> (Or: A Christmas AU wherein Louis has bad habits and Harry loves him anyway.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	doorbell rings, we're not listening

**Author's Note:**

> In an effort to overcome my own writer's block, I've decided to do a series of unrelated Christmas oneshots. There isn't going to be any sort of posting schedule, because obviously things get a little hectic around this time of year (and I've got to work almost full-time, and deal with my whole family coming to town) but I'll try to get at least one up a week. 
> 
> All prompts come from this tumblr [post](http://larryhug.tumblr.com/post/133670466202/blakesmilitia-im-always-a-slut-for-a-christmas) and a big thanks to Babz for editing :D

 

* * *

 

At approximately quarter past three in the morning, Harry is woken by a thump. 

His head flies off the pillow, his neck craning backwards at an incredibly painful angle, and he looks around in a bleary panic for the source of the noise.

Louis is gone, he notices first.

Santa’s kidnapped him, he thinks next.

In his defence, it is three in the morning. And Harry’s never been particularly good at thinking clearly when he wakes up.

He stares blearily at Louis’ empty side of the bed for a moment or two longer before coming to the conclusion that Santa probably hasn’t kidnapped his boyfriend. Even if it is Christmas Eve, and even if they had been watching horror movies before they’d fallen asleep, there is that pesky fact that — at least as far as Harry knows — Santa doesn’t actually exist.

No, and this is his third clear thought, the explanation for his boyfriend’s absence, and the loud noise that had startled him from his sleep is much more mundane.

Harry lets his head drop back onto the pillow for a moment, allowing his frantic pulse to settle, and waits.

He doesn’t have to wait for long. Barely a minute has passed before a small, quiet voice wafts up the stairs.  

“Harry?”

Harry closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and wonders vaguely what life would be like if his boyfriend wasn’t a complete and utter knobhead. The thought is accompanied by an all consuming sense of fondness for the idiot.

He pushes the comforter off his body and drags himself out of bed. Then he swipes all his hair from his face, tugs on a white t-shirt and walks downstairs.

The sight that greets him when he reaches the landing almost makes up for the fact that Harry’s awake at this hour of the morning.

Louis is lying flat on the floor, bathed in a rainbow of lights from their Christmas tree. The reds and blues and greens do startlingly beautiful things to Louis’ complexion, especially with a touch of the moonlight that streams in from the living room window — but Harry thinks this probably isn’t the time to marvel in his boyfriend’s good looks. Not when Louis’ chest is rising and falling at a pace that suggests he was recently surprised. He’s stretched out at the foot of the sofa, and Harry thinks vaguely that the thump that woke him might have been Louis’ head slamming against the arm of their couch.

This is, of course, hilarious. Their couch is a plush and leather monstrosity that they’d invested far too much money in, and can’t have done him any harm. Plus, from the evidence scattered around Louis’ prone body, a bump on the head is the least that Louis deserves.

Harry fights the urge to jump up on the sofa and crow his victory, probably with some kind of smug celebratory dance. He’ll save that for later, he thinks. He’s unable to fully mask the smirk pulling at his lips, but the rest he tampers down. He folds his arms across his chest, leans against the doorway, and waits.

“Babe?” Louis asks after a moment, still not looking at him. His voice is slightly hoarse. “Did you booby trap the Christmas presents?” he asks.

Harry thinks that perhaps the unwrapped Christmas paper and the open Jack-in-a-Box that lies at Louis’ feet is probably answer enough. He can only imagine the way that Louis must have unwrapped the box, careful not to rip any of the paper, and eagerly pulled it open. The clown that jumped out of him, complete with knit red hair and a terrifying grin on it’s little plastic face, was exactly what he deserved.

Besides, it’s three in the morning and that means Harry’s allowed to enjoy this a little bit. “What gives you that idea?” he asks.

Louis sighs. “I hit my head,” he says.

“You alright?” Harry checks.

Louis sighs again. It’s a grumpy little sound, one that makes Harry’s heart swell to three times its normal size. “Yeah,” he grumbles.

The living room falls silent for another moment, during which Louis continues to breath. Then he says, rather petulantly, “I only wanted to see one.”

Harry nods serenely. “I know,” he says, “that’s what you said last year.”

Louis lets out a huff and moves for the first time. He rolls over onto his side and shoots Harry a remarkably cross look. “It’s my birthday, you know,” he says.

“Mhmm, yes,” Harry hums. “I had some idea.”

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me on my birthday.”

His eyes have gone all big and round, the way that they do whenever Louis wants something. Usually, it dissolves Harry’s resolve within seconds. But tonight Harry is steadfast. This is the third year in a row that Louis’ tried to sneak an early look at his presents, and Harry’s putting his foot down.

“You already got all your birthday presents,” he reminds Louis pointedly. “Christmas presents get opened on Christmas Day.”

Louis huffs again and rolls back onto his back. He peers down at the jack-in-a-box with an incredibly bitter look. “I can’t believe you jack-in-a-box-ed me. That is so fucking lame.”

Harry shrugs. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Louis lets out a disgusted little sound, although Harry’s not sure who it’s directed at. “Can’t believe I fell for it,” Louis grumbles.

Harry smiles. The grin he’s been fighting so hard to stifle is beginning to win the battle, pulling at his cheeks in a way that he can barely control. “I can’t believe it either.”

Louis shoots him an incredibly sour look.

Harry considers him for a quiet moment and thinks about how very, very in love he is. Christmas has been a day of contention between the two of them for a long time — mostly because of Louis’ awful impulse control and Harry’s inability to conceal his disappointment when Louis isn’t surprised by his presents — but he can’t bring himself to think about any of that at all. Not while Louis’ lying on their carpet, surrounded by carefully unwrapped Christmas paper and a cranky little frown on his face.

“Come on,” he says. “Come back to bed.”

Louis scowls at the ceiling and doesn’t say anything.

“Louis.”

“I’m good here actually,” Louis says after a moment. He folds his arms across his chest, looking absolutely ridiculous as the tree lights cycle to a bright pink that lights up his skin.

“Are you?” Harry says.

“Yup,” Louis says.

Harry waits for a couple more seconds before he sighs. It’s not as though Louis will have any more success if he tries for another present — he’d planned for all eventualities, of course.

“Fine,” he says. He pushes away from where he’s leant against the wall and shrugs. He would have liked to maybe fall back asleep with a bit of a cuddle, but he resigns himself to the fact that he can’t win them all. “Do you want a blanket or something?”

Louis shakes his eyes and then, despite the fact that it’s the middle of December in London, shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says imperiously.

Harry can already see the goosebumps erupting on Louis’ bare legs, but he doesn’t push it.

“Okay,” Harry says. “Sleep well,” and if he sounds a little sad it’s because he kind of is. Not really, but kind of. Maybe just disappointed? But not even that really. He’s not mad or upset — it just would have been nice to wake up with Louis, even if he had gone and snuck a peek at all the presents.

He makes it about two steps up the stairs before Louis calls him back.

“Harry?” he says — exactly the same way he had before.

Harry stops on the stairs. “Louis?”

There’s a quiet moment. Then, in a small little voice, Louis asks, “can you carry me?”

“No fucking way,” Harry says without pause.  

Louis huffs loudly and lets out a little whine. “What?” he demands indignantly, the meekness vanishing from his voice like it had never been there to begin with. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll break my back, Louis,” Harry says.

Louis’ responding gasp echoes around the lower floor. “How very dare you?” he almost shrieks.

Harry leans forward, presses his forehead to the banister and forces himself not to feel endeared by his stupid, stupid boyfriend.

Two seconds later, Louis stomps to the base of the stairs with a face like a kicked arse. “Are you calling me fat, Harry Styles?” he hisses. “On my birthday?”

Harry smiles into his own hands. “You know,” he says, very aware that he’s playing with fire and deciding to go for it anyway, “it’s not technically your birthday anymore.”

Louis smacks his shoulder with hard and fast precision. He stomps past Harry on the stairs, only stopping when he’s standing higher than Harry. “You are awful to me,” he declares. “I hate you.”

Harry lifts his head from his hands, rubs at his shoulder a little bit. “No you don’t,” he teases.

Louis’ face turns a little pink and this time it has nothing to do with the lights strung on the Christmas tree. “I do too,” he says.

“Nah,” Harry replies. “You love me.”

“No, I don’t. I hate you.”

“You love me,” Harry sings. “And you’re stuck with me.”

Their heads are level, with Louis standing a step higher than Harry, and Harry thinks that that’s all the incentive he needs. Before Louis can say anything more, or flush any darker, Harry reaches a hand out, fists his t-shirt and pulls him into a slightly sleep sour kiss.

Louis lets out a quiet little squeak of surprise, and then sinks into it without protest.

He’s so easy, Harry thinks.

They kiss sweetly on the stairs for a few minutes. Despite the hour, Harry feels more than happy to stand there and lose himself in it a little — and Louis seems more than content to let him. He sucks at Louis’ bottom lip, bites it just a little and slips him just a tad more tongue than he usually does — before pulling back.

Louis arms have settled across Harry’s shoulders, and he doesn’t let go when their lips part. He licks his lips and the move almost demands that Harry push forward for more — but he manages to control himself. It is arse o’clock in the morning, after all. And their gloriously mundane long term committed relationship meant they were both happy to put off fooling around til the morning.

“How did you know I was going to try and open that one?” Louis asks after a moment.

Harry shrugs. “I didn’t. They’re all like that.”

Louis stares at him incredulously, his wide eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and wonder. “What?” he says, scandalised, “all of them?”

Harry nods. “All of them,” he confirms solemnly.

The looks Louis shoots him next is absolutely distraught. “But — ” he splutters, “then where are the real presents?”

“I’ve hidden them.” No sooner have the words left Harry’s mouth, than a devious spark ignites itself behind Louis’ eyes. Harry is quick to smother it. “At Liam’s house.”

“Liam’s house!?”

“Yup.”

“Why the fuck are they at Liam’s house?”

“Because,” Harry says, “we’re going to go to a nice Christmas lunch with him and Niall and we’re going to be on time this time, because you won’t be distracted playing with your new toys.”

Louis gapes at him. “That was one time!”

“Louis, we were two hours late!”

“It was an accident! Liam understood — he’d’ve done the same if he’d gotten that game, it doesn’t even matter—!”

“You’re right,” Harry interrupts him. “It doesn’t matter. The presents are already there, nothing you can do about it now.”

Louis falls silent, his protests quietening as he shoots Harry a very, very dark look. This time, it stirs a vague sense of trepidation in Harry’s tummy — there’s something heated behind Louis’ eyes that he doesn’t dare underestimate.

“Fine,” Louis says after a second. “Fine. But don’t think you’re getting away with this Styles.”

Harry raises an ill-advised brow at him. “Oh yeah?”

Now, Louis looks positively dangerous. “Yeah,” he says. He brings his hands down from Harry’s neck and takes a firm, steady grip of Harry’s wrist. He doesn’t pause before he turns around and starts dragging Harry up the stairs. “You’re so gonna pay for this.”

Harry follows him obediently, his heart thumping in his chest. “And how are you going to do that?” he asks.

Louis shoots him a devious, narrow eyed look over his shoulder. “Well,” he says ominously. “If I can’t unwrap my Christmas presents, then I’m just going to have to tie you up instead, aren’t I?” 

Fuck it if that doesn’t go straight to Harry’s dick.

“And,” Louis continues, shoving Harry through their bedroom door. “You better believe I’m not _unwrapping_ you til I’ve had my fill.”

As Harry tumbles backwards on the mattress, suddenly faced with five feet nine inches of fiery, horny and slightly vindictive boyfriend, he thinks that this Christmas might be their best one yet.

.

**Author's Note:**

> UGH I EVEN DISGUSTED MYSELF WITH THIS ITS SO FLUFFY AND DUMB YIKES. 
> 
> Leave a comment/kudos if you love me, and reblog the tumblr [post](http://bottomlinsons.tumblr.com/post/134046454962) if you really, really love me! (Also if you follow me on [tumblr](http://bottomlinsons.tumblr.com/) i'll 1000000% follow you back!)


End file.
